


Half Love

by Machiavelien



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Affairs, Cheating, Exhibitionism, F/M, Infidelity, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Not Harry Osborn friendly, Peter Parker is a thot, Peter is a homewrecker, Revenge Sex, Semi-Public Sex, The cheating brings PeterMJ together, angst with a happy ending (?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machiavelien/pseuds/Machiavelien
Summary: She deserves it, Michelle supposes. She knew what kind of person Harry was when they began dating, saw proof of it, and stayed this long.But what would it be like to be with someone she could trust, someone who makes her feel like herself again?
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 62
Kudos: 150
Collections: Peter Parker's Thotumn 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thotumn Prompt: Semi-Public Sex

Her cheeks are starting to ache from smiling at the camera for so long, so Michelle can't help thinking murderous thoughts of the poor photographer who's just doing his job. It really isn’t his fault that she’d rather be anywhere but here, decidedly ignoring her boyfriend and his suffocating arm over her shoulders—though he could hurry up with taking their pictures.

She and Harry had another fight right before the charity dinner. Or rather, after coming back from a squash match against his father, he proposed to Michelle—again, just like he did after the last particularly nasty argument with Norman.

As soon as the photographer moves on to the next table, Michelle excuses herself and gets up before Harry can say anything, throwing down her table napkin. She is sick of watching her boyfriend flirt with another woman in front of her and can’t get away from them fast enough.

She takes the stairs instead of waiting for the elevators, in case he decides to run after her, but Harry is pretty useless after a fourth glass of anything, and she’s pretty sure he was on number five or six when she left—not that she’s feeling too sharp herself after rage-drinking more than her share of the table wine.

Stopping halfway up the stairwell to catch her breath, Michelle takes off her stiletto heels and sighs in relief as her feet flatten against the cold hard floor.

It's no secret that Norman Osborn isn't a fan of Michelle’s, and the feeling is mutual. Sometimes she feels like she's still with Harry just to spite his father—an unusual benefit to balance against the growing list of problems in their relationship, and maybe the only shared goal she and Harry have any more. 

But threatening to marry his girlfriend—who's interning at the NGO think tank that's suing OsCorp for violating environmental regulations—was not the dramatic and romantic gesture of rebellion that it was in Harry’s head.

In fact, it was insulting as hell.

Of course, Michelle called him out on it, and the half-assed marriage proposal became a fight about her unwillingness to commit, even though they’d only been dating for two years and just graduated college. But the constant reassurances he kept demanding from her made those two years feel like an eternity—she’s so tired of being responsible for his ego and sense of self-worth, keeping it in check and inflating it at the right intervals. It is _exhausting_.

She should have broken up with him a long time ago, but Harry has a way of convincing her out of it each time. From pleading with crocodile tears in his eyes to promises that things will be different—that _he'll_ be different—he's talked his way back into Michelle's life too many times.

But tonight she told him exactly how she felt, and if they didn’t have to cut their fight short in order to get going to the event, she may have broken things off right there and then. She thinks Harry can tell, or at least she hopes so—maybe he’ll break up with her before she does this time.

To get back at her, he was blatantly flirting with the pretty blonde seated beside him at the charity dinner, who probably thought that they were being subtle with their game of footsie under the table. But Harry was most certainly rubbing it in Michelle’s face, all the while pretending he was just entertaining the mayor’s daughter on behalf of OsCorp.

So, Michelle downed her glass of wine and took off without a destination in mind—she just needed to find somewhere to be alone and far away.

When she reaches the windy roof deck, Michelle curses herself for leaving her jacket behind. Tears burn at the back of her eyes, and her head is swimming from all the wine, and now she’s shivering by herself in the dark. Great.

The first time she caught Harry cheating, they were seniors at Harvard and had been dating for almost a year. It was at the tail end of pledge week for Harvard's finals clubs, and he claimed he couldn't even remember his one night stand's name, that she was just some drunken mistake after a stressful week of ‘punching’ and initiations. 

Knowing Michelle didn't like going to those douche-fests, Harry even told her that if she’d been there and he'd run into her first, he probably wouldn’t have cheated. It was just a matter of circumstances. 

"Like two particles colliding, completely random," said Harry. "But you're the one for me, 'chelle. You know that, right? Besides, she wasn't even a Cantab, probably just some Wellesley freshman that got bused in. A nobody."

Younger and stupider, but no less responsible for her next miserable year leasing up to now, Michelle forgave Harry and held a grudge against the nameless, faceless girl instead. That's what she hated most about him, how he changed her, and how she let herself change for him. 

When did she become this person? When did she drift so far away from who she used to be?

She deserves it, Michelle supposes. She knew what kind of person Harry was when they began dating, saw proof of it, and stayed this long. 

But what would it be like to be with someone she could trust, someone who makes her feel like herself again? 

The irony doesn't escape her either—she's spent so many years trying to become more than Michelle Jones and her dark sense of humor, but these days she misses the girl she used to be.

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Michelle blinks away the hot tears in her eyes. The twinkling city lights blurring as she tells herself not to cry, no matter how pissed off she feels. She did this to herself.

A crunch of gravel breaks her out of her thoughts, and she turns around.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone was out here," says a man with a camera hanging around his neck, stepping back. "I'll get out of your hair—"

"No, you can stay,” says Michelle, though she’s not sure why she does. She’s definitely not fun company right now, but she also doesn’t want to be stewing in her angry thoughts by herself. “It's not like I own the place or anything. Unless you’re going to smoke a cigarette—in that case, you can go kill yourself somewhere else, and save me from the second-hand smoke."

The guy chuckles, and it’s so familiar, her ears so attuned to picking the sound out in a noisy cafeteria or auditorium once upon a time. At first she isn't sure if it is really him—it's been over five years since she last saw him face to face—but deep down, Michelle also knows she’d still be able to recognize him anywhere. 

“Peter?”

He blinks, his eyes widening in recognition, and warmth floods his entire expression. "MJ?” He takes a step closer. “Wow, you look—I mean, wow, it's good to see you."

Michelle self-consciously wipes the corners of her teary eyes, sniffling lightly. “Hey, dork,” she replies.

He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, pursing her lips. “Just cold up here.”

Despite her protests, Peter shrugs off his suit jacket—which doesn’t match his dress pants—and hands it to her.

“What about you? Don’t want you getting cold either,” says Michelle, taking his jacket anyway and draping it over her shoulders.

“I’ll be okay, my blood always runs on the hot side anyway.”

He rests against the railing and looks out into the night skyline, his side profile cutting sharp lines against the darkness. 

Peter's offhanded words make her feel strange. Michelle coughs, glancing away. "So, what's Spidey do for fun these days?"

They've never acknowledged that she highly suspects that Peter was Spider-Man, but she is feeling bold from that extra glass of wine at dinner.

Peter's eyes widen in alarm for a second before settling back to a neutral demeanor. "Uh, he's mostly busy with, y'know, the usual stuff."

"Saving kittens and fighting interdimensional supervillains?"

"I heard he was catching pigeons the other day, for a friend." Michelle lets out a snort, and Peter's lips curl into a pleased grin as he asks, "What about you?"

Slipping into that safe, scripted banter, they exchange updates on their lives—who they've kept in touch with from Midtown, Peter congratulates her on her prestigious internship, Michelle asks him about freelancing as a photographer, and somehow half an hour flies by. 

All her favorite parts of him are still the same, Michelle can't help noticing, even the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. He used to be the only person to laugh at her jokes while everyone else shifted uncomfortably, and it fills her with satisfaction to find that she can still make Peter laugh now. 

A familiar warmness in her stomach grows, filling her chest and making her feel giddy.

But those are the immature feelings of a highschool girl, and Michelle Jones is a grown-ass woman with a Harvard degree and the student loan debt to prove it—she’s not not some shy, obsessed teenage girl anymore, mooning over Peter Parker in secret.

She is just curious about what he's been up to all these years, if the news matches the reality of him, the man beneath the mask.

When they run out of polite things to talk about, they settle into a companionable silence while gazing out at the city spread out beneath them. Michelle catches herself scanning the skyline for red and blue, a silly habit she's picked up since moving back to the city. Especially silly right now.

"I'm kind of glad I ran into you,” she says, disturbing the peace between them. “I was having a pretty shitty night, so thanks for the distraction.”

“Glad to help,” says Peter, smiling crookedly. “I’ve been told I’m very distracting.”

“You were definitely distracting in highschool,” she says, letting out a rueful chuckle. 

“What do you mean?”

The heat creeps up her neck and cheeks, and she shifts on her heels.

“Well, you were always running out on class and AcaDec practice and stuff, and I had to make sure you were keeping up, otherwise I’d have to find an alternate mid-year,” she rambles, “and then after the Blip it was like, I don't know... important for me to check that you were still alive and in one piece, so sue me.”

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in a single breath,” Peter points out.

"Yeah, well, I might have been a little tongue tied over my tiny, miniscule, maybe-crush on you—"

“Are you serious? I had the _biggest_ crush on you back at Midtown! Like, huge!”

“You're only saying that to get in my pants now,” Michelle teases, rolling her eyes.

“No, really,” Peter insists earnestly. “I had this whole plan once, to tell you how I felt. But then they cancelled the science club trip to Europe, and after we graduated… well.”

Michelle swallows the knot forming in her throat, trying to keep the regret and feeling of what could have been from overwhelming her, and tries not to think of how different things would be if Peter followed through with his plan. 

“Please don't tell me that,” she says quietly, looking out at the cityscape. 

“Sorry,” says Peter, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to—sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Would it help if I told you I got over it?”

"Not really," she says. "Don't worry about it. I just don't like rehashing the past."

"Me neither," says Peter, leaning in close. "I'd rather focus on right now."

"When did Peter Parker learn how to use lines like that?"

"I dunno, is it working?"

Michelle laughs despite herself and has to forcibly bring herself back to reality. 

"Is it true, what they say about Spider-Man and Black Cat in the news?" she asks, changing the subject.

Peter lets out a little huff of laughter. "Uh, 'they're' not together, if that's what you're asking."

"So they've never fucked?"

"I didn't say that," he replies, corner of his lips twitching as he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Why do you ask?"

His lips are so close that she can feel his breath tickling her neck. Michelle inhales sharply. They're getting into dangerous territory. 

"No reason. It was good to see you, Peter," she says abruptly, leaning back, and the way Peter's smile dims a bit makes her chest ache. 

"Oh, uh, yeah. Same here," he replies.

"I gotta go back," she adds, nodding her head in the general direction of the charity event. If she stays any longer, she might do something she'll regret.

A shadow of disappointment crosses his face, but Peter quickly masks it. "Maybe we can do this again, catch up? Can I give you my number?

"I'd be too tempted to call if I had it," she jokes, still lingering by his side.

"Would that be so bad?"

She bites her lip, not wanting to tell him the truth but feeling compelled to. "I have a boyfriend."

"Ooh, ouch! She used the boyfriend line," Peter grimaces, clutching his chest with one hand theatrically. "But really, you don't have to do that with me. I can take a hint, MJ."

"No, it's the truth." _Unfortunately_ , she wants to add, but doesn't.

"Lucky guy," says Peter, reluctantly taking his jacket when she hands it back.

Michelle can't help letting out a sarcastic snort at that, even as her heart crumples. "He's no Spider-Man," she shrugs. "See you around, Peter."

"Bye, MJ."

Swallowing the knot in her throat, Michelle turns and hurries off as quickly as she can, still clutching her heels in one hand and hoping she doesn't step on anything gross.

Her heart is still fluttering, and all the feelings she thought were long gone keep flooding back. Pangs of nostalgia, of the girl she used to be, and the woman she thought she’d become.

She lets herself fantasize for a moment, imagines what it would be like to be with Peter. 

For one, he wouldn't come back to her smelling like a stranger’s perfume or stale liquor—just blood and smoke, instead, if he comes home at all.

Turning the opposite way she came from so she can take the elevators down this time, Michelle tiptoes quietly, half-hoping to hear Peter call out for her. It's silly and she's terrible for wanting it, but she's going to give herself a pass for tonight.

She startles when she hears a belt clink and some rustling around the corner behind a decorative partition, and comes to a halt, holding her breath.

“Oh yeah, that feels so good,” groans an unmistakably familiar voice, followed by a girl's muffled moan and the wet sounds of a sloppy blowjob. 

"Suck me harder, yeah just like that," Harry coaxes with a slight slur. "You're doing so good, baby."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"Ah... just keep sucking, and let me worry about her, okay?"

The mayor's daughter is blowing Michelle's boyfriend just three feet away from her. Fucking fantastic.

Holding her breath, Michelle turns on her heels and doubles back the way she came, her heart thudding heavier than before. 

She feels furious and nauseous, and she doesn't know what to do except keep her feet moving, and keep herself together until she can find an anchor to hold onto.

Peter's eyes light up when he sees her. "Hey, did you forget something—"

She interrupts him with a hard kiss, pulling him towards her by the collar of his shirt. 

When he realizes what's happening, Peter's arms come around to hold her, and he kisses her back with equal fervor. His mouth tastes so good, and when his tongue slides against her lips, she sucks on it, making him hold her tighter.

"And then you kissed me?" he gasps when they finally break apart for air.

Catching her breath, Michelle nods. 

“Before we do anything else, maybe you should talk to your boyfriend? Fiance? Whatever he is…”

“Nah," she pants, feigning disinterest. "Harry’s too busy burying his sorrows in a twenty-year-old’s mouth right now to chat—” 

“So you want to use me to get back at him?”

“No, it's not like that, Peter. I don't want to think about him at all. Like you said before, I just want to think about right now.” 

How can she explain it to him without sounding crazy? That she's wanted him since she was fifteen and barely knew what she wanted at all? That she filled sketchbooks with studies of him from every angle imaginable—his eyes, his hands, right down to those fidgety fingers and their nervous wringing. That there's nothing she wanted more than him, and that it took her years to get over it? 

"I just thought… running into you here tonight, that maybe it was..."

Michelle isn't a superstitious person by any stretch, but she likes narrative symmetry and metaphors about free will and—

"...fate?"

She snorts back a laugh, not because Peter was so painfully earnest when he said that, but how easy it was to admit how she feels. Or maybe it's just easier to admit secrets to someone who feels like a stranger.

"Something like that," she says quietly. Or maybe random chance, like particles colliding.

"So, where do you wanna go?" Peter asks, eyes wide and hopeful. 

"Who cares?"

"Awesome."

She follows his lead to the far side of the roof deck, her fingers looped through his as he tugs her along toward the secluded area. They're suddenly nervous to start up again, until Peter makes the first move and leans in, hand on her cheek to guide her lips to his.

This kiss is sweeter this time, slower and on purpose. 

She can feel him hardening against her thigh, getting hotter and more urgent as they keep kissing. She's wrapped in the warmth of his suit jacket, his body shielding her from the chilly air.

Then he's kissing her neck and chest, his greedy hands palming her breasts and touching everywhere he can reach, and she wants him to take what he wants.

“Be careful with the dress.”

“It probably costs more than I'm getting paid for this job tonight,” Peter jokes.

She notices he's getting nervous, his need still obvious but his hands holding back. "Are you okay? We don't have to—I mean, if you don't want to—"

"No no, I absolutely want to!" exclaims Peter. He licks his lips. "I just have something to tell you, but, I mean, it's—"

"Just spit it out, Peter."

With a guiding arm, he helps her back to her feet, but she lets her hand graze his erection on the way up.

"I saw you once, through the windows of that new highrise on Central Park South, while I was on patrol. I didn't mean to—I didn't know it was you, until…" Peter shrugs, unrepentant. "I figured that the exhibitionism was part of what you were doing, so...I stayed and watched."

Her face burns, from both embarrassment and arousal. The idea that Peter saw her and Harry made the heat travel from her face right down to her lower belly.

"I wondered what it'd be like to be him," Peter continues, his hands drifting down from her waist to her hips. "And what'd it'd be like to have you bent over like that."

"You don't have to wonder."

Peter's eyes darken and he swallows thickly, like he's calculating something, weighing his options. 

She brushes his hard-on and he groans, flashing her a warning look. She presses on. "Do you think someone can see us right now? The way you watched me getting fucked?"

Peter inhales sharply, his fingers pressing into her thighs. "Maybe."

"I think yes," she says. "I think that's why you picked this spot. Anyone can just look out and see us, can't they?"

"Yes."

"You want them to watch us while you fuck me?"

"I don't care about anyone else, MJ. You're all I want," says Peter, his hands heavy on her hips. 

He groans when she wriggles out of his grasp, turns around, and bends herself over the railing. Her dress rides up and pools over her waist, and she shivers from the chill of the wind.

Fighting the urge to look over her shoulder, Michelle feels Peter's hand slide up her legs, caressing the inside of her thighs before his fingers part her folds. 

"More," she gasps, her request almost lost in the white noise of the wind, but then he pinches his slick fingers around her clit, making her hips jump back. 

She squeals when he licks her unexpectedly, then whines when he draws back until he buries his face into her again. Peter's mouth is heavenly, hot and wet, tongue flicking and lapping all over her. She wants him inside her so badly, and she tells him as much.

He groans at her words, and she knows they should be stopping now. But the fire inside her that's been building inside her all night begins to take over, and she doesn't care anymore.

"Do you have a condom?" she asks, her heart racing and praying he says yes.

The sound of crinkling foil getting torn open has never turned her on more in her life.

She knows it's wrong. She should feel guilty, but she doesn't. The only thing on her mind is how much she wants Peter, and how much he wants her. 

She thinks of all the justifications and moral gymnastics Harry must come up with each time he cheats on her. Or, more likely, he doesn't even bother coming up with an excuse anymore and just tries not to get caught.

Except she did catch him tonight, and as pissed off and hurt as she feels, she's also more aroused than she's felt in a long time. There was a moment when Michelle could have said no and turned back. Peter was pressed right against her entrance, already slippery with her arousal.

She could have told him to stop right then, that she can't go through with it, that they shouldn't cross the line. 

Instead, Michelle lifts her hips and moans loudly when Peter pushes into her, meeting his thrust with equal force. 

Fuck the line.

He presses his entire body against her and holds her hips up as he mounts her. So, he knows he's big, considering how slowly and carefully he's thrusting, until she's acclimated to his size. 

She didn't get a chance to see Peter's cock before he buried it into her, but she can feel how thick he is, and it almost hurts when he eases himself all the way in.

"Don't stop," she pleads. "I can take it."

She tells him she's not used to taking a cock that big, but she wants it—she needs it tonight. She wants Peter to ruin her and make her body forget Harry ever existed. 

Her knees go weak, legs shaking as she teeters on her heels and Peter keeps his relentless pace thrusting into her. Bracing herself against the railing, Michelle's mind goes blissfully blank as her senses are completely taken over by the present—the feeling of him pushing in and out of her, her climax rising until it's unbearable, his fingers digging into her thighs and spreading her wide.

It doesn’t take her long to reach her first orgasm. The guilt is enough to tip her over the edge, but he is so thick and he does this thing with his hips, and she's gone.

“Oh Peter, keep fucking me, please, please,” she pants, thrusting back wildly. 

He keeps up the same pace and she feels him swell and finish into the condom inside her. That hot rush sends her into a second orgasm, and a strangled sound comes out of her.

"Shhh…" Peter tries to shush her, but she limply waves him off, her head hanging over her arms folded across the railing like a rag doll.

Some part of her wants to get caught, craves it.

Anyone below the deck could look up and see them, or staff passing by this part of the venue. She's always had to be the one to look the other way, but this time, she wants to be the one who gets found out, the one who fucked up. 

"Okay," she says as she stands up, straightening her dress over her hips while still catching her breath. "I'll take it."

"Take what?" asks Peter, zipping up his pants.

"Your phone number," says Michelle, sliding her underwear up her legs. Brushing her hair back, she looks him in the eye and smiles. "To catch up again some time."

His warm brown eyes light up, the hazy lust melting into something softer, and he nods. "How about tomorrow?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments on chapter 1! I intended this to be just a one shot, but the feedback motivated me to add to it (and bring back some scenes I originally cut). Angst is a bit out of my comfort zone, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please see the end notes for a warning about this chapter.

"This is a one time thing," Michelle says again, more for herself than Peter, while frantically unbuckling his belt.

"Sure, whatever you want," Peter pants, unzipping his fly.

"I mean, I've never done something like this before."

"Except last night?"

"I don't usually do stuff like this," she amends with a huff, looking up at his cheeky grin with a raised eyebrow, and feeling grateful that she doesn't visibly blush.

It's true, though—she's never done anything like this before, not until she crossed paths with Peter last night. Then it was like some sort of dam had broken inside Michelle, and all the pent up frustration and years of hurt came pouring out of her like a tidal wave that swept her along with it.

Still sore from Peter’s thorough fucking, she went home to Harry afterwards and tried to break things off with him. But after a volley of drunken insults from both sides, he ended up apologizing and begging her for another chance, insisting that the whole night was a mistake that they should both forget.

Which was just as well—because once Michelle fully sobered up and the reality of what she and Peter did finally hit her, harsh and unfiltered in the light of day, a nauseating wave of guilt overcame her. How could she have stooped down to Harry's level, all because she lost control of herself for a reckless moment? She was better than that—she had to be, it was the only thing holding them together anymore.

So, giving into her cold feet, she promised herself that her lunch plans with Peter today would just be a platonic daytime reunion between highschool classmates and nothing more, even if she had different intentions when they first agreed to meet up again.

The clatter of Peter's belt on the floor startles Michelle back to the present, and when his cock springs out of his pants, thick and heavy, she tries not to gasp too loudly.

A hot rush of excitement courses through her, but she manages to control herself. She licks her lips and glances up at Peter, bringing the tip closer to her mouth until she's just barely touching him, even though she desperately wants to taste him.

"Fuck," he groans, looking down at her. "MJ… I can't believe you're here."

At first she thinks he means her kneeling in his kitchen and ready to suck him off, but his gaze is so soft and so filled with longing that she thinks he means something else.

They were supposed to grab sandwiches from Delmar's and eat them on the bleachers by Midtown's track field, for old times' sake. But the school grounds were closed, and when it began to rain, they ran back to Peter's apartment instead, shrieking and laughing and cradling their hot sandwiches against their chests.

It's the most fun she's had in a long time—she can't even remember the last time she's felt her lungs that full or her stomach ache from laughing so hard. And when she caught him staring as she toweled her hair, her rain-soaked shirt draped over his hamper, it made her realize how long it’s been since anyone has looked at her like that.

Wrapping her hand around the base of Peter's cock, Michelle begins to pump him slowly, dragging her palms against his length and feeling him harden with each stroke. Looking up at him, she takes him into her mouth and starts sucking.

Stroking him with both hands, she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock and alternates with massaging his balls while deepthroating him.

Peter starts breathing heavily and murmuring under his breath as he cradles the back of her head, telling her how beautiful she looks. She opens her mouth wider and takes him as deep down her throat as she can, managing not to gag despite how thick he is.

His thighs shake as he tries to hold back from thrusting into her mouth, but Michelle doesn't relent. She slurps and sucks, making messy work of his cock and savoring the way he's moaning and losing control, all because of what she can do with her tongue.

Feeling him swell in her mouth, Michelle braces herself for the thick creamy spurts that hit the back of her throat.

When he's finished, she opens her mouth to show Peter his cum pooling on her tongue. When it starts to dribble down the corner of her lips, she swallows it back. It's a little gratuitous and porn-y, but she likes the reaction she gets out of him, which turns her on even more.

"You gonna kiss him with that mouth later?" Peter asks hoarsely, aroused and jealous.

Michelle feels herself tense up. It's the first time either of them has mentioned Harry today, and she realizes she hasn't thought of him all day.

"Do you want me to?" she asks, wiping her chin.

Peter looks at her intently, clenching his jaw. "Doesn't matter what I want," he finally says, an edge to his voice. "This is just a one time thing, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Michelle replies, softly but firmly. "So let's make the most of the time we have now."

He breaks first, his brows softening as his broad shoulders slump. "I can never seem to get my timing right, huh?"

Before she can figure out what to say to that, he pulls her close and slides his hands up under her shirt, wasting no time in unclasping her bra.

His hands feel so good, and she tries not to think about anything else while he undresses her all the way. Peter laughs when he sees the bright red and blue lace of her lingerie, making her smile and bite her lip.

She likes how she feels around him—sexy and fun, like she can't do anything wrong in his eyes, even though everything she's doing right now is so wrong.

She lets out a pleased whine when Peter finally bends her over the stove and eases into her from behind. It’s almost too much, his thick cock pushing into her from this angle, but she begs him not to stop.

Peter bottoms out on every stroke, filling her and hitting her in the perfect spot, over and over, until a hard and fast orgasm tears through her.

After she comes, Michelle spins around and they fuck face-to-face, still backed against the stove in Peter’s tiny kitchen, until he’s ready to come.

“Inside me,” she whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

He nods, never taking his eyes off her, and pulls her close, thrusting hard and fast until he swells inside her.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she moans, throwing her head back against a cabinet, the entire counter shaking until Peter lets out a loud groan.

When they finish, Michelle dresses quickly and tells herself this was the last time she does anything like this. In fact, she deserves these recent lapses in judgement, after putting up with Harry's numerous indiscretions for so long.

She just has to quit while she's ahead—before someone gets hurt.

But the sad smile on Peter's face tells her that it's already too late. He hands Michelle her coat and she takes it, but they don't take their eyes off each other.

Her clothes are still damp from the rain and clinging to her skin, but Peter's gaze warms her all over. Before she knows it, his lips have caught hers again, and she drops her coat on the floor.

* * *

The ding of the penthouse elevator door opening startles Michelle, and she quickly stuffs her clothes from the day into the bottom of the laundry hamper.

Harry's home earlier than she expected from a night out with his friends, but his erratic footsteps indicate that he's already drunk.

Stepping out of the bathroom just as he staggers into their bedroom, she gulps when she realizes she's still wearing the lacy red and blue lingerie set from today. She never wears this sort of thing, but maybe Harry is too tipsy to notice.

From the way he totters over to her, it's clear he's also a little high from something else, probably some kind of uppers making him jittery all over.

"Oh, hey," she greets, turning back to face her dresser and catch her breath. "You're home early. I was just changing for a shower."

Michelle's heart is racing even though there's no way Harry could know where she was today. Unless he can smell Peter on her? Can he look into her mind and see everything she did today, everything she let Peter do to her?

It doesn't matter, she has to stop thinking about Peter and forget all about today—the whole point was to get him out of her system for good, so she can focus on fixing her relationship with her boyfriend.

"Just wanted to see what you were up to tonight," says Harry, coming up behind her. He makes a pleased sound as he inspects her while she's standing there in her underwear.

Her body feels frozen, unable to move, as if every part of her could be evidence waiting to incriminate her. Peter was careful not to leave any marks on her, but she can still feel his touch all over her body, and the thought alone is turning her on.

"This is sexy," Harry says, snapping the string on her panties and making her jump. "Trying to make it up to me, babe?"

Michelle frowns. "For what?"

"For being so bitchy at dinner last night," he says, grabbing her by the waist and turning her around to face him. "You knew it was a big deal, entertaining the Hollisters. But don't worry about it, I forgive you."

" _You_ decided to forgive _me_?"

Resentment curdles in Michelle's stomach. When she confronted Harry about Mayor Hollister's daughter, he told her that she was being paranoid and looking for something to get angry about 'as usual'.

But she swallowed her anger and her pride like bitter pills, reminding herself that she and Harry were even now, just like she wanted. So why does she feel like shit?

"That's right, babe. Forgive and forget," he smirks, tugging at her arm. Harry's smile used to make her feel like the two of them were in on some secret joke together, but now it always feels like he's mocking her.

Without warning, he slides his hand into her underwear, and Michelle freezes, barely able to breathe, clenching around his cold fingers in her shock.

Instead of leaving when she was supposed to, she and Peter had fucked one last time against his apartment door. They were long out of condoms by then, and she hasn't gotten a chance to clean herself up yet before Harry got back.

"You're so wet for me already," Harry chuckles smugly, drawing his hand back out and examining the glistening cream running down his fingers. "Miss me that much, huh?"

Nodding, Michelle makes a non-committal sound, her heartbeat thumping in her ears, desperately hoping she doesn't let anything slip by accident. She watches him reach into his own pants to stroke himself hard, completely oblivious that he's using Peter's cum to slick himself up.

His hands are fumbling from whatever drugs he did tonight, but he eventually manages to pull her underwear to the side and press himself against her.

That's when she sees a swipe of lipstick on the collar of his shirt—some ugly pink-orange color Michelle definitely doesn't wear.

Reminding herself that they're even now, she swallows back the bitter taste rising in her mouth and closes her eyes, imagining he's someone else even though she promised herself to stop doing that.

"Fuck, that's good," Harry groans. "You like that, huh? You're so fucking wet, 'chelle."

At first she thinks that means he's already finished, but when he hisses out a swear, she realizes he's just gone soft and keeps slipping out.

It wouldn't be the first time Harry has had trouble staying hard because of some cocktail of pharmaceuticals and hard liquor, but it doesn't help that she's still dripping with Peter's cum.

After another failed attempt, Harry gives up on getting inside her between her legs and tries coaxing her into giving him a blowjob instead.

She sighs, dissatisfied, and shakes her head.

“Oh come on, you’re gonna play hard to get now?” Harry is agitated, and his earlier flirtatious mood quickly sours when he doesn't get what he wants.

She glares up at him _. I fucking hate you._ "I'm not in the mood tonight."

"Of course you're not," Harry mutters, getting off of her with a loud sigh. "You're never in the damn mood…"

"Where are you going?" she asks, watching him tuck himself back in his pants. He doesn't say anything as he puts his jacket back on and grabs his wallet from the nightstand.

"Don't wait up," he says over his shoulder.

“I won’t.”

After she hears the elevator doors close, she exhales the breath she's been holding since Harry left the bedroom. Her head is still spinning from the rage that's threatening to choke her, but at least the air in the room feels lighter without him.

The feeling of betrayal and violation still prickles beneath her skin like an itch she can't get to. She feels dirty and used up, and not in a good way.

Michelle takes her phone out and sends Peter a message, her hands trembling as she types.

_Can I see you again?_

She stares at the screen of her phone, the light reflecting off the floor-to-ceiling windows and casting a lonely glow. When she looks up at the city skyline, she sees her own face outlined in the dark glass, blurring against the twinkling lights. She can barely recognize herself.

Running into Peter at the charity event was an accident that she took advantage of, impulsive and unplanned. But texting him now, after the fight she just had with her boyfriend, is undeniably intentional.

Then again, meeting up with Peter earlier today under the pretense of two old classmates catching up—at his apartment, alone, while Michelle wore Spidey-colored lingerie underneath her dress—that was, perhaps, intentional as well.

But they agreed that it could only be a one time thing, just some closure to their previous night time rooftop encounter—if hours of marathon sex all over Peter's cramped studio apartment could be called closure.

She swallows nervously when she sees Peter responding, staring at the blinking dots as he types, deletes, and retypes, until finally:

_When?_

Sighing with relief, Michelle considers waiting a respectable and aloof five minutes before responding, as if she's got anything more important to do.

After almost a minute, she gives in and texts him back.

* * *

MJ can't stop shaking her knee and anxiously tapping her foot as she waits for the apartment door to open. The low buzz of the doorbell is still ringing in her head, along with the angry words she and Harry spat at each other.

She could still turn around now and leave, never contact Peter again. Then it'd be like none of it really happened, if she just walks away and leaves him alone. He has enough to deal with in his life without her complicating it.

But a selfish part of her doesn't want to let him go, not when they've just reconnected after all these years—not when she needs him right now.

Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, the door opens, and she holds her breath.

"MJ?"

"Hey, Peter," says Michelle, sniffling. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he replies, stepping aside to let her into his apartment. "Are you okay?"

"I will be, I think."

After a long hot shower alone, Michelle curls up in Peter's bed while he holds her.

He doesn't ask her what happened or push her to say anything or explain herself, just silently takes her into his arms until she falls asleep listening to his heartbeat.

* * *

Michelle is careful not to stay the night again—it would be too risky, in more ways than one.

But not risky enough for her to stop seeing him altogether, not when Peter is the only thing that makes her feel anything anymore.

He is so attuned to her every movement, it's as if he knows her body better than herself, and he can see right into her most private places—where she keeps all her weaknesses, pettiness, and insecurities hidden inside. With Peter, Michelle feels completely naked, body and heart, but never judged and never found wanting. It's an addictive feeling.

She likes to think Peter's getting just as much out of this as she is—hot, discrete sex with someone who knows his secret and doesn't want anything else from him. But she keeps catching herself thinking about him whenever they're not together, fantasizing about Peter in ways she's never thought of anyone before.

Even when she's sitting in a meeting at work, her mind keeps wandering back to the last time he bent her over his sagging couch, or she'll daydream about the next time he'll fuck her in his dingy shower.

Michelle knows this thing between them can't be anything more than that, but when they're alone together, she can pretend that he belongs to her, at least for the moment.

While they're tangled up in his bed, she can almost imagine what her life would have been like if things were different.

But she knows it's no use wondering about what ifs and what could have been, not when she's busy stitching up a cut on Peter's shoulder that keeps reopening. His suit is hanging around his waist, his Spider-Man mask in hand as he's slumped against her on his floor.

"Thanks, MJ. Not just for this, but for not telling anyone about Spider-Man, even though you knew for so long."

She keeps her eyes trained on his wound and the needle, feigning indifference. "Of course. I mean, this is what we do, right? Keep each other's secrets."

He tenses beneath her touch and doesn’t say anything for a while, his shoulders sinking. Finally, he exhales and says, "Yeah. That’s right. We’re just keeping secrets."

* * *

"What was your first time like?" Peter asks. They're always loose lipped afterwards, still living in the fantasy and the afterglow.

"Fast. Over before I knew it," says Michelle, rolling over to look at Peter, her head resting on one arm. "Nothing like today."

"I should hope not," Peter snorts, running his hand along the curve of Michelle's waist and hips.

She twists in his hold and maneuvers herself to straddle him, squeezing her legs around his hips.

"My turn," she says, running her hands across his chest. "What was it like, the first time you fell in love?"

His ears go red. "Uh… me? I don't…" He bites down on his bottom lip and glances up, holding back from saying something to her.

 _No, don't say it_ , she prays as realization dawns on her _._

"What about you?" Peter asks, turning her question back on her.

She tells him the truth. "I've never been in love."

Peter raises his eyebrows incredulously. "You've been dating someone for two years and you've never been in love?"

She shrugs. "I thought the feeling would come eventually, if we tried hard enough." She traces her fingers along Peter's stomach, unable to meet his eyes. "If _I_ tried hard enough."

Taking her face in his hands, Peter presses a kiss to her cheek and pulls back before she can kiss him back.

"Are you still trying?" he asks.

She looks him in the eyes and tells him the truth again. "I don't know."

* * *

"Do you think of me when you're with him?"

They've stopped referring to Harry by name. He's become nothing more than a ghost in the room, a tool in their game, especially when Michelle wants to get Peter all worked up.

He grabs her hips and starts to move faster, and it feels so good she begs him to go harder.

"Answer my question first," he says, thrusting into her with long hard strokes, just slow enough to make her grind back impatiently.

"Yes," she pants, willing to say anything to keep him going, "I think of you when he fucks me. When he's using my cunt, I imagine it's your cock inside me, ruining me like this, right now."

What she said seems to satisfy Peter enough, so he holds up his end and starts moving faster, and Michelle feels that tension coiling up inside her start to snap.

She almost feels bad that she lied to him—she hasn't been with Harry since she's started seeing Peter—but she also doesn't want Peter to think this thing between them is becoming more to her than it should be.

Michelle grabs the back of his neck and pulls him close until their foreheads are touching, her legs wrapped around his waist. Shaking all over, she lets out a moan as her legs give out, an orgasm piercing through her before she falls back on his bed.

Afterwards, they shower together to wash the sex off, and she goes home and starts counting down the hours before she can see Peter again.

Michelle should feel ashamed of herself, but she doesn't. She's been waiting for the feeling to catch up with her, and she's prepared to deal with the consequences when they come, but it doesn't seem like Harry has even noticed anything remotely amiss with his girlfriend.

To test her luck and maybe tempt the universe, Michelle agrees to meet up with Peter at the school where he teaches part-time and walk back to his place together—in public, though not holding hands. Their fingers brush against each other once, and she jerks her hand back like he's made of fire.

Once they're alone in his apartment, Peter pulls her towards him and starts kissing her neck, unbuckling his belt at the same time. Michelle pulls him on top of her as they fall backwards onto his bed, and soon he's deep inside her, his hands roaming her body as he starts to move.

That's when her phone starts buzzing.

"Don't pick it up," he says, kissing her shoulder.

"I have to," she huffs, sweating, and stretches over to the bedside table to grab her phone, which is flashing Harry's name.

"I'm at the gym," she lies when he asks her where she is—though, to be fair, she is definitely getting a workout.

She can tell Peter's annoyed that she's not paying attention to him, so he thrusts into her harder.

"Ung!" she yelps. "Sorry, my trainer's giving me a dirty look for being on the phone. Yeah, just doing some post workout stretching now—"

"I love stretching you out," Peter murmurs into her neck as he keeps moving in and out of her.

Swallowing down a moan, Michelle struggles through the rest of the call, nodding and almost dropping her phone a few times when Peter pinches her nipples.

"—mmhm, yeah, I'm pretty sore," she chokes out. "He worked me really hard today… anyway, I should go, before he makes me go for another round... of pushups."

After she hangs up, Peter smacks her on the ass and pulls out before he finishes. His dick is glistening and dripping, and he tells her to lick him clean.

Doing as he says, Michelle turns around to suck him off. It only takes a few thrusts until his hot release shoots down her throat, and she savors the way his thick, salty taste mixes with hers.

Afterwards, she asks Peter to help zip up her top while they're standing together in his bathroom, and it feels like a task he’s performed dozens of times before, his touch so familiar and tender.

His hand brushes against the soft hairs on her neck, and Michelle flushes from the tingling sensation.

She catches his eye in the mirror and can see exactly what he is thinking—that he doesn’t want her to go, that he wants her to stay there, with him. She knows he wants more than she's ready to give him right now, but he doesn't push.

“I’m already late,” she says, glancing away and grabbing her coat.

* * *

When Peter texts her about meeting up again, Michelle doesn't respond for a few days, when she finally makes up some flimsy excuse. She can feel his disappointment through the phone's screen when he tells her not to worry about it.

Why does doing the right thing feel so terrible? And why does lying to Peter feel infinitely worse than lying to Harry?

It's another four days before she gives in and shows up at Peter's apartment. He takes her without a word, fucking her hard and fast against the kitchen counter, as if it could be their last time.

"Do you want me to fuck you like he's watching?" Peter asks as he kisses her throat.

I's the first thing he's said to her since she arrived, and it conjures up Harry's smug grin, unbidden, throwing her off her rhythm.

Clenching around him, Michelle tries to focus on Peter's face instead, all flushed and breathless, but she can't shake the heavy feeling whenever she thinks of her boyfriend.

Just as she is close to coming, Michelle pushes herself off Peter, gasping like she's just made it to the surface of the water, and falls back in bed, panting and feeling achingly empty.

"I can’t," she breathes out.

“What? Are you okay?”

“I just—I don’t want to talk about someone else when we’re fucking, okay?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted—”

“Why would I want that?”

Peter looks confused. “Isn’t this why we’re doing this—this whole thing? This... _affair_?”

“What? No, I told you this isn’t about him.” Michelle rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. There's a crack in the plaster that connects a row of water stains. “I just want to be with you, Peter. I don't want to think about anything or anyone else when we're together.”

"But how long can that last, pretending the world doesn't exist outside of this room?"

He's asking how long can _they_ last like this, and she doesn't have an answer for him. The mattress rises when he gets up to throw out the empty condom, then sinks when he sits back down beside her.

"If you really do want to be with me, and not just to make someone jealous, then what's stopping you?" Peter presses. His gaze is hard and intense, but she can see the desperate pleading in his eyes. She wishes she can give him the answer he wants.

Sitting up, Michelle suddenly feels worn out and exposed, and wraps her arms around her bare chest. “Come on, look at us, Peter. What we’re doing, what _I'm…_ You deserve better than this.” _Better than me._

“I don’t care about what I deserve or don’t deserve. I want _you_ , MJ.”

“Then you’re being an idiot.”

Peter shakes his head, exhaling a frustrated breath. "Look, I can't stop wanting you, Em. Believe me, I've tried." He runs his fingers through his hair anxiously a few times, letting the curls fall back over his forehead. Stopping, he turns to her and asks quietly, "Why don't you just leave him?"

His question makes it sound so easy.

And it's not like she hasn't broken up with Harry before—it just never stuck, and he eventually stopped taking her seriously. At some point, she lost faith in herself, too.

But with Peter in the picture, a break up might last for good this time, and maybe Michelle isn't ready for that yet.

The first time she ever tried to break up with Harry, he drunkenly called her from the rooftop of a building on campus and threatened to walk off the edge if she didn't come back to him. So she did, and after he sobered up, he swore it was a one-time lapse in judgement.

_"You just drive me so crazy, 'chelle, and that makes me do crazy things. But if you really care about me, you won't tell anyone, okay?"_

Harry hasn't pulled anything like that since, but Michelle has been living with constant fear that she’ll cause him to spiral again. Even if he didn't really mean to follow through with his threat the first time, she can't risk it. Besides, she’s good at keeping secrets, and she’s already betrayed Harry enough—at least she won’t betray this secret of his.

"I'm the only person in his life who actually gives a fuck about him, which I know is really messed up," Michelle admits, and it's the truth. "And since Norman thinks therapy is for the weak, I'm all Harry has left."

"That's not fair to you."

"A lot of things aren't fair."

"That's not a reason to stay—"

“Leaving him isn’t just about a break-up," says Michelle. "It would mean blowing up my whole life—my friends, my job, everything that's tied up with this relationship. I can't just walk away without losing anything, not like you can if you walked away from us.”

“You think I’m not losing anything from this?” asks Peter, throwing his hands in the air. "How about my sanity, MJ? Because I'm losing my goddamn mind over you! But I can't say anything, right? Who am I to want anything when I'm the—the—"

"Homewrecker?" Michelle suggests. It's a weak attempt at levity, but she doesn't have anything else to offer him. He chuckles weakly anyway, the fire in him quickly burning out and guttering into resignation.

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, Em, but I do want more,” he says, holding his arms out. “And I know we can be so much more. You don't need to keep punishing yourself.”

Stepping closer, Michelle clenches her jaw tight to keep her lips from quivering. “I’m sorry, Peter. I can't.”

His fingers hover over her shoulders, and she fights the urge to give in and sink into his chest. “So Harry gets to have you? Is that it?" he asks. "Just because you think you don't deserve better?”

"I don't know what you want me to say," she sighs, gently moving his hands off her shoulders. "This thing with us, it couldn't last forever."

"I know,” says Peter, letting her slip out of his arms. “How could it when you never gave us a chance?" 

She never meant to hurt him, but Michelle should have known she would—Harry’s reminded her enough times how selfish she gets when there’s something she wants. 

And she really, really wanted Peter. 

Sitting in the back of a cab later, Michelle finds herself pushing down the nauseating feelings of regret and guilt that rise in her throat. It’s all finally catching up with her, and a strange sense of relief settles over her. 

This feels familiar, the heaviness and loneliness, and it’s almost comforting. This feeling of emptiness never went anywhere, but for a while she could pretend it didn't exist and that she could be happy. But it always comes back, it was only a matter of time.

And maybe Peter doesn't think she deserves to feel this way, but he doesn't deserve to get dragged down with her, either. So for his sake, she can be unselfish this once, even if it feels like she’s drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: in the second scene there's the start of a potentially uncomfortable sexual encounter; nothing non-consensual ends up occurring but I wanted to warn folks who are just here for some smutty good times. In the last section, there's a reference to a suicide attempt but not described in detail.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at meeeee (but like, kudos/comment if you enjoyed? If you were enraged?)
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @machiavelien


End file.
